Mark Your Card
by victoriansass
Summary: He's doesn't dance but she's worth dancing with.


New York, 1976. A city barely holding on, struck down by poverty, with its reputation reduced to a sneer of disapproval from the outside world. New York; it was nothing but a den of crime, drugs and social disorder.

Perhaps that, Leonard mused over a disappointingly warm beer, is why the team had got on so well here. Here _might was right_. Here, how you walked through the streets was dictated by what you feared, and why the hell should any of them fear a bunch of two bit thugs and drug dealers when they'd been taking on an immortal warlord?

No, he smiled to himself before bringing the bottle to his lips once more, here they were untouchable. _Kings_.

Well, some of them anyway.

Hunter had come to the reluctant realisation that keeping seven volatile people cooped up in a ship whilst he tried to figure out their next move was an insane idea. Far better to let them blow off steam.

" _Go. Find a bar somewhere. Make sure you're back by morning. And don't start any fights!_ "

It was nice to know he was still so optimistic.

Said bar was famous – or, more accurately, infamous – in this part of town; great music, cheap drink and a high probability that something would go down before sunrise. Maybe Sara should've chosen somewhere else but, as she said, she did like to dance.

If he was a betting man (he wasn't, preferring certainties rather than odds), Len would've laid money on Ray getting into trouble first. Not wittingly, but he did have one of those faces that people just liked to punch. So far though he was just sitting at a table with Jax (the kid having been left on babysitting duty by default as the others abandoned him), talking more animatedly the more drunk he got. Maybe Jax should've stayed back on the ship with his smarter half.

Mick of course was always on the verge of starting a fight with someone. It was that unpredictable volatility that'd placed him on Len's raider in the first place. He had a knack for fighting his way out of things. Or into them. The (illegal) poker game he'd started up was civil so far but it only took one disgruntled player for the tables to turn. Literally.

And then there was Sara, who seemed to revel in causing a scene wherever they went. Who was apparently uncomfortable with peace in a way Len figures most people would considered 'damaged', but he's not the type to judge. If she's happiest swinging punches, then so be it.

As to whether she's _actually_ happy like this? Well, he's not an expert on happiness.

Right now she seems pretty happy with herself as she dances with Kendra to the slow, sensual sway of Marvin Gaye's ' _Let's Get It On_ '. Well, some might call it dancing. Others, more like dry humping. Not that Kendra seems to mind – her proclivities don't swing the same way Sara's do but she's comfortable enough not to bothered by what others might think of them.

Sara on the other hand has the ready manner of someone positively itching for public disapproval – waiting for some jerk to come up and say something crass, to try it on with one or both of them. She's left disappointed though as the song ends without incident and Kendra grins, walking back to the table to see if Jax needs 'rescuing'.

Which is when Sara's gaze fixes on him, sitting on his own at a table in the darkest corner of the room. She sashays across like a predator although he's far too sure of himself to be prey, watching her approach with a steady appraisal and not even flinching as she climbs onto his lap.

Although he does raise an eyebrow when she steals his beer from his hand and takes a long swig.

Her skirt – short but flowing, giving her enough room to still move in a fight – rides up in a way that he chalks down as purposeful. He grins at her, hands clamping onto her waist with assurance. He knows if he puts them in the wrong place she could break his neck on principle alone (although he doubts she would). He likes it. There's a safety in that kind of uncertainty.

"Miss Lance." His tone is easy. Totally unaffected by her bold display. "I believe you're a little worse for wear."

He can smell the spiced tang of whiskey on her breath, but at the same time her gaze remains steady and her body under steely control.

"I wish." She sips at his beer again before handing it back to him.

"What are you then?"

"Bored."

The word is almost cooed as she leans closer and he grins dryly. _Nice try_.

"No you're not."

"Oh yeah?"

"You're testing me."

He's not sure why but she clearly is, throwing temptation in his face, crawling up to him like a cat on heat. He doesn't get the impression that she's exactly shy when it comes to sex – something he admires – but this is clearly all an act. Designed to see how he'll react. Maybe she's so itching to start a fight that even he'll do. Or maybe she's just trying to see if she's still got _it_. She was dead for a year after all.

He doesn't mind her playing with him but he won't have her think he doesn't see through the front.

She leans back, grinning, looking mildly impressed.

"And do you think you passed?"

"With flying colours."

She laughs at that, sliding off his lap and into the seat next to him. A different woman. Does she trust his intentions now, is that it?

"Actually I was gonna come and ask you if you wanted to dance. Since I lost my partner."

"That wasn't dancing. That was gyrating."

"Did it offend your delicate sensibilities?"

"I just think Marvin Gaye deserves better."

And just like that the mood changes. Her expression twists, her smile taking on a bitter tint.

"I'm sure he does."

It frustrates Len, how she can let the littlest thing get to her like that. How she's so willing to see judgement from others. You've got to walk proud in this world, be unashamed who you are, because if you don't fight your corner then who the hell else will?

And she's wrong. About herself, that is.

Standing, he places the drink firmly down before grabbing her hand, pulling her to her feet and leading her wordlessly to the dancefloor. Weaving deftly through other couples as ' _Always and Forever_ ' sets a slow pace.

It's a song he knows well. His mom used to play it. She had a real thing for soul music.

He draws Sara close without seeking permission, one hand on the small of her back the other holding hers against his shoulder. His hip pressed against hers so he can guide her in a slow sway to the music.

At first, the tension between them isn't the good kind as he refuses to back down and she refuses to surrender. A silent argument felt in two stiff bodies that, despite it all, manage to move in time to the music.

She doesn't look at him at first, her gaze fixed on a spot on his neck. In return he says nothing, breathing slow and steady against her temple.

Finally, when she does look up, her expression verges on suspicious, like she guesses he's playing her somehow.

"I didn't think you danced."

"I don't."

And yet here he was. He purses his lips, as if trying to keep the words in before reminding himself that no one can hear them except her.

"Maybe I wanted you to realise you're worth dancing with."

It's bold statement from someone who so carefully crafts a reputation for not giving a crap about anyone. But there's a weariness about her and it's gnawing at him. She thinks she's a monster but she's _really_ not. He's seen monsters. Worked with them. Grew up with them. She's just another person who life has screwed with, trying to pick up the pieces. And she's doing better than most.

The smile she offers him in return for those words is small but grateful. Not entirely believing him but maybe he's sown the seeds of something.

Something more than he's bargained for when she rests her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes.

And he _likes_ it.

Not that anything about his reaction even hints at that. He's good at keeping things hidden.

"Why did you become a criminal?"

Her question is softly spoken, laced with genuine curiosity. And normally he's not of a mind to indulge such things but she's got him… off kilter. So much so, that he'd be throwing her some sarcastic comment and getting the hell out of there if he could figure out how to do it without looking like he was running away.

As it is, he remains silent, hand still holding her close as they move, and she takes his lack of retort as an invitation to continue speaking.

"Hardly seems like you wanted to follow in daddy's footsteps. I mean, you're smart. You're _really_ smart. You could've become an engineer or something."

"You're not the first person to say that."

Barry smug son-of-a-bitch Allen. If there's anything that stops Len wanting to do the right thing it's the look that'll be plastered on that kid's face when he finds out.

And if there was anything that made him not want to be a criminal it was because his dad was one. But he'd been left with little choice and so his only recourse was to show the old man up; be better than he could ever hope to be.

"So then?"

He shrugs lightly, careful not to shift her too much.

"Well there's not much point staying in high school when you have a juvie record. Your opinions are quite limited. I'd rather be an exceptional thief than scrape for people's approval. I don't believe in just… meeting expectations."

She looks up again, an odd kind of pleased frown on her face, like she thinks she's found something interesting.

"Is that why you're here, then? Shattering expectations?"

"Something like that, yes."

It's an unexpected moment of peace – of _understanding_ \- broken by the sound of an overturning table and flying glassware. Mick bellowing in indignation at being branded a cheat.

Len sighs with an air of 'well this was inevitable' as he steps back, gesturing to where the punches are starting to fly.

"I do believe they're playing our song. Ladies first."

And Sara grins then, impish and amused. Wasting no time in going to sort out the brawl. Len follows half a pace behind her.

Despite what she thinks – what she thinks people _expect_ of her - she's a good woman. But not too good.

That's why he likes her.


End file.
